You keep me in stitches
by Enkidu07
Summary: “Dean, you’re the only person I know who hates getting stitches taken out worse than getting them put in. It won’t hurt, dude. Just a snip and a pull. Thirty seconds. Then we can have lunch.” Warning: Terrible pun use.


"Take off your pants, Dean," Sam ordered, trying to hold into his temper

Title: You keep me in stitches

Disclaimer: They are not mine. I would treat them much more nicely if they were.

No Dean's were harmed in the making of this imaginary scenario.

--

"Take off your pants, Dean," Sam ordered, trying to mentally will his brother into cooperating.

"No way, dude. You're not getting your grubby paws on this fine package," Dean shot back with a smirk, though his levity was betrayed by his eyes flitting to the doorway behind Sam, as if planning his escape.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, trying out his stern, get-your-ass-over-here look.

Dean's eyes unwillingly snapped to Sam's face at his tone. He took a step back, mentally recalculating his chances of making it past Sam.

"No means no, dude. I thought you of all people would know that – Mr.-I-won't-sleep-with-women-unless-I-am-in-a-committed-relationship."

Sam closed his eyes. "Well, since the woman in question is you, Dean, I'll make an exception. Now drop 'em."

"You're a woman," was Dean's reflexive, huffed reply.

His eyes darted around the room, paused briefly on the open bathroom door, and then zipped back to Sam. Sam - who had ambushed him as he returned from picking up lunch. Dean felt betrayed. His own brother cornering him in the hotel room. Dean had even picked up a container of fresh fruit from the diner – just for Sam. Sam was so not getting that now. The lunch lay forlornly on the small table in the entryway where Dean had dropped it before catching onto Sam's treachery. He eyed it hopefully.

"Sammy," he tried again. "Let's just have lunch. Look, fresh fruit." Distraction. Maybe that was the key.

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Dean, you're the only person I know who hates getting stitches taken out worse than getting them put in. It won't hurt, dude. Just a snip and a pull. Thirty seconds. Then we can have lunch."

Dean shifted uncomfortably and retreated another half step as Sam snipped the mini scissors in the air with his words. "They're fine, Sammy."

"Dude, they're not fine. They need to come out. You put it off any longer and they're going to become a permanent part of your ass. They've been in too long already."

"Let's just leave them there, Sam," Dean pleaded with his eyes. "They'll be like added protection." Dean sent over his cockiest grin, "My ass will be reinforced against future damage."

Sam couldn't help but laugh as he shook his head in disbelief. "You're an idiot, Dean."

"Really, don't worry about it, Sam. I can get them myself later," Dean tried mollifying his brother.

"That ship sailed two days ago, Dean. We do this now." Sam moved in for the kill.

Dean's eyes darted the room, heart in his throat, panic imminent as Sam moved in. Sam had effectively cornered him behind the furthest bed and he couldn't make an exit without truly making an ass of himself. Within seconds Sam closed the gap and laid a hand reassuringly on Dean's shoulder. Huh. That did quell the panic a little. Dean stared over Sam's shoulder, intently examining a crack in the wallpaper. His stomach settled to mere uneasiness.

Sam was grinning and shaking his head again. "Dude, I may have to look at your ass, but I draw the line at undoing your pants. Drop 'em."

Eyes still looking anywhere but Sam, Dean slowly started undoing his belt. He wasn't really seeing a way out this. Damn.

Sam continued to grin until Dean fiercely brought his eyes up and glared at him. Sam carefully schooled his features into a sympathetic, I-feel-your-pain-man expression to keep from further provoking the craziness.

Dean finally got his pants around his knees and stood facing him.

"Next you have to turn around, Dean," Sam stated, with exaggerated patience, biting his cheek to keep his neutral expression.

Dean eyed him with veiled concern and then turned warily.

"Lift up your shirt," Sam ordered.

Dean complied slowly and Sam was finally able to see the neat line of stitches peaking out from Dean's boxers at the back of his left hip.

"It looks good, Dean. It's not even red anymore. We should have taken these out a couple of days ago." He tugged the edge of Dean's boxers down as he talked, taking in the entire neat row. "Hold still."

As Sam moved in with the scissors, Dean reflexively took a half shuffle forward, causing Sam to snip at the air.

"Dean."

Sam moved in again. Dean shuffled forward. Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, half frustrated, half amused at the mental image of the two of them doing the Texas two-step around the bedroom.

"Seriously, dude. You're killing me here." Sam said, hands now on his hips.

Grabbing the back of his brother's shirt Sam firmly prodded him towards the bed. Unable to put up much of a fight with his jeans around his knees, Dean slowly toppled face first onto the mattress. Lying prone, Dean screwed up his face, kicked his disloyal jeans the rest of the way off, and made a halfhearted attempt to evade his brother's efforts by scrambling the rest of the way across the bed.

Sam arrested his escape with a gentle hand still snagged on his shirt, and Dean finally gave up the fight and curled begrudgingly on his right side. Moments after settling, he was startled as a pillow smacked down on his head. He pulled it off with a scowl but then curled an arm around it and muttered, "Pillow fight, Sam? You are such a girl."

Dean felt the mattress sink as Sam sat close to his curled knees.

"Just relax for a second, Dean," Sam's voice soothed, even as he mischievously snipped the scissors in the air again.

Dean turned back to glare at him and Sam chuckled out a quick, "Sorry," at his brother's anxiety.

Dean felt his boxers being tugged down again and he buried his face in the pillow in his arms.

Sam slid the scissors gently under the first suture and snipped the delicate wire. Reaching across Dean for the tweezers, he grabbed the tiny knot and gently tugged the stitch from his brother's backside.

In response, Dean wiggled away, huffing a breath. "What the hell, Sam? That felt like it was attached."

Sam caught a hand around his brother's hip stopping his escape. "That's what you get for leaving them in so long. Hold still."

"How many more?" Dean asked, hand gripping at the comforter, still attempting to pull away.

"Well, you had fourteen stitches and in the last 15 minutes I've removed, let's see… ah, one. So, if I have the math right, there are thirteen more, Dean," Sam replied, his tone bordering on exasperated.

Solidifying his grip on his brother's hip, he pulled him firmly back across the bed and then snaked a hand around his torso to hold him in place. "Hold still."

Sam snipped number two and repeated the tugging process, wincing himself, when Dean strained against his arm and huffed again.

"Dean, seriously, you don't even flinch when they go in, but you're such a baby when they need to come out. What the hell?"

"It's just creepy. I can feel them pulling through my skin on the way out. It's unnatural." Dean shuttered. "Just leave 'em in, Sam," he tried again.

"Maybe we need to invest in dissolving stitches, Dean," Sam said as he snipped and pulled on number three.

Dean grunted and pulled against Sam's restraining arm again.

After snipping stitch number four, Sam grasped the tweezers with his right hand and gently scratched his brother's torso with his left, drawing Dean's attention away from his abused buttocks.

Nice. Dean was beautifully distracted for stitches four and five. Success, however, was short lived as Sam got a little too close to Dean's ribs and Dean tried to squirm away again, pushing at Sam's arm and grunting, "Dude, stop, that tickles."

Catching Dean's deflecting arm, Sam held his wrist until Dean settled again. As he prepared to pull out number six, he gently tugged on the small hairs on Dean's forearm. The tactile stimulus was enough to cover the sensation of the pulling thread and Dean didn't even wince.

A couple of stitches later, Dean pulled his arm away, mumbling, "You're gonna pull the hairs out, bitch."

In response, Sam tugged the next stitch without a distracting touch and as Dean winced and huffed and tried to wiggle away again, he pleasantly responded, "Suck it up, jerk."

Around stitch number twelve, Dean finally stopped struggling and buried his head pathetically under the pillow.

Sam shook his head as he realized that less than a minute's work had him sweating even in the cool hotel room. Dean was always such a pain in the ass about this part, and even though Sam knew it didn't really hurt, his stomach still clenched for his brother.

Noticing the pause, Dean unburrowed and asked hopefully, "Done?"

"Just two more, man," Sam said, patting his brother's leg reassuringly. He focused back to the task and snipped and pulled the last two sutures.

Looking appraisingly at the healed wound, Sam noted that his ministrations had caused it to redden and swell slightly. Dean's skin had started to attach to the stitches and Sam berated himself for not forcing Dean to take them out sooner. Dean's aversion to the procedure always led to a fight but delaying it ultimately made it worse and made him even less cooperative the next time around.

Sam snagged the first aid cream and soothed some over the hot area. The topical anesthetic in the cream would get rid of any lingering tenderness.

"Dude, please tell me you are not feeling up my ass," came Dean's muffled remark from sub-pillow and he released the pillow long enough to smack at Sam's hand.

"You wish, dude." Sam remarked back, smacking Dean's reddened rump as he pushed himself up off the bed.

Sam cleaned the supplies as Dean grumbled himself off the bed and back into his jeans, rubbing gently at him unstitched cheek.

"So, what's this about fresh fruit?" Sam asked perkily as he hovered around the table.

"No way in hell, Sam. Little brothers who corner and maim their elders do not get fruit."

Sam shook his head and, grinning at Dean, pointedly shot back, "You're welcome."

Dean regarded him through narrowed eyes and with a huff of his own, acquiesced and pushed the fruit container roughly Sam's way.

Rubbing at his arm distractedly and turning back to dig out his own burger, Dean's eyes twinkled and he snorted out, "You're such a pain in my ass, Sam. Get it? A pain in _my_ ass."

Sam snickered despite himself and shot back, "You're a riot Dean. You keep me in stitches. Get it? Keep me in – oomph," Sam was cut off as Dean found revenge with his pillow.

The End.

Silliness. I love it.


End file.
